You Can't See the Stars Through the City Lights
by odd-gelato
Summary: Drake falls off the wagon. Fortunately, Launchpad is there to pick him up.


_it's not perfect, but i've got like 5 dwd fics in the works and i'm gonna lose my damn mind if i don't post at least one of them. cw for alcoholism._

* * *

It was midnight when Launchpad's cell phone, tossed carelessly on the nightstand just a couple hours earlier, began to ring. Launchpad groaned and rolled over, groping towards the sound in the dark. He blinked blearily at the caller ID ( _Best Buddy_ ) before answering. "D.W.?"

A slurred voice came through. "Heyyyyy, L.P."

Launchpad jolted upright, instantly wide-awake. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

"Fine, 'm fine," Drake replied, and Launchpad could picture the dismissive hand wave. "Jus'… had a ffew too many, y'know?"

Launchpad almost couldn't believe it – _wouldn't_ have believed it, if the evidence in Drake's speech wasn't so clear. "You're _drunk_?"

"Mmmyep," Drake said. "Forgot where I parked the Ratchcatcher. Come get me."

The Ratcatcher had an autopilot function to return to the bridge hideout in case of emergency, so the thought of Drake using it to get home wasn't a particularly worrying one. "Where are you?"

"Dunno. Somewhere."

The thought of Drake lost and blitzed out of his mind in the middle of the night in St. Canard, however, _was_. "Turn on your location," Launchpad said, scrambling out of bed. "I'll find you."

Drake muttered to himself as he fumbled with his phone. It took him so long to navigate his settings that Launchpad was almost fully dressed by the time Drake said, "Alright. 'S on."

"Good," Launchpad replied, shrugging on his jacket and snatching up his keys. "Stay put. I'm on my way."

* * *

Somehow, Drake had ended up in the warehouse district. He wasn't in uniform, and Launchpad was grateful for that at least – the last thing they needed was for Darkwing Duck to be found staggering around town with a two-thirds empty bottle of whiskey in a paper bag. Instead, he was only wearing the turtleneck, and had likely left the rest in the Ratcatcher (wherever that was).

Launchpad pulled up next to where he was loitering on the sidewalk and got out of the battered station wagon. Drake cocked a finger at Launchpad with a lopsided grin. "Thanks for comin', buddy."

Grabbing Drake's arm, Launchpad began to drag him back to the car. "Come on," he said, stamping down the anger bubbling in his chest. "Let's get you home."

At that, Drake yanked away. "No!" he yelped, stumbling backwards. He tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and landed flat on his back, still somehow managing to hold onto the bottle.

Launchpad loomed over him, arms crossed. "No?"

Drake swallowed. "I don't…" His grip on the bottle tightened, the paper bag crinkling under his fingers. "Don't want Gos to… see me like this."

It would be possible to get Drake back into the house without waking Gosalyn, but there was no guarantee. Launchpad understood, and was relieved Drake still had _some_ self-awareness left. "Alright," he said. "Where do you want to go?"

"Dunno." Drake wouldn't look at Launchpad, his eyes turned instead towards the night sky. "Somewhere… somewhere we can see the stars."

It was an odd request, and something about the way Drake said it made Launchpad's chest tight. He looked up as well. There were a few stars visible, but even they struggled to outshine the city lights. After a moment of thinking, he realized he knew just the place, so he bent down and scooped Drake off the concrete. Usually, Drake protested at being picked up like this, but now he sighed and nestled further into Launchpad's arms. If only he didn't reek of booze, it might have been a nice moment.

As he walked around to the other side of the car, Launchpad pried the bottle away from Drake, earning an indignant, "Hey!" Launchpad ignored him, dropping the bottle into a nearby trashcan. Drake grumbled wordlessly while Launchpad situated him in the passenger seat and buckled him in.

Once Launchpad started up the car, however, Drake fell silent. He rested his head against the cool glass of the window, watching the city zip past until the buildings ended and were replaced by rolling hills. The trip took about fifteen minutes, the normal travel time almost halved by Launchpad's driving "skills." It certainly wasn't long enough for Drake to sober up to any reasonable degree by the time they screeched to a stop along a dirt track in the middle of the countryside.

They were atop a hill that gave them an unrestricted view of the landscape for miles around, as well as a clear view of the sky. Launchpad got out and waited patiently for Drake to figure out how the seatbelt, and then the door handle, worked.

At last, Drake all but fell out of the car. "Hood," he said. "Let's sit on the hood."

Launchpad watched Drake try to climb up on his own a couple of times before taking pity on him and lifting him up. Drake cleared his throat and brushed himself off, like he was still trying to hold onto some shred of dignity. He lay down against the windshield, folding his hands behind his head. Launchpad sat on the end of the hood, his feet on the bumper. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then Drake asked, in a small voice, "Are you mad at me?"

Launchpad's hands fisted against the smooth, cooling metal. "Yeah," he said. "I kinda am."

"Sorry," Drake choked out, and Launchpad twisted around to look at him in alarm. He had one arm over his eyes, and his other hand was on his chest, clenched in the fabric of his turtleneck. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" His whole body began to tremble.

"Stop, stop!" Launchpad said, grabbing Drake's shoulder. "What's going on? This isn't like you!"

Drake laughed, a harsh and bitter sound. "This _is_ me," he said, like he'd bit into a lemon. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Wouldja believe I was just a couple months away from getting my five-year chip?"

This didn't sink in right away, but when it did, Launchpad's eyes widened. "You're… a recovering alcoholic?"

"Ding, ding, ding," Drake said, shaking a finger to each _ding_. "But instead of a prize, you get the knowledge that your so-called great hero's a fuckin' failure."

Launchpad pulled away, folding his hands in his lap. "I didn't know," he said softly, at a loss for how else to respond.

"You weren't s'pposed to," Drake said, sitting up. He wrapped his arms around his legs and hid his face behind his knees. "I never wanted you to."

After a moment of hesitation, Launchpad scooted back so he was next to Drake. "What happened tonight?" he asked.

"Nothin'," Drake spat, a little muffled. "Absolutely nothin'."

"This doesn't look like nothing."

Drake rocked back and forth a few times before lifting his head. "'m scared," he admitted quietly. "'m so fuckin' scared, L.P." He dug his fingers into the feathers at his temples. "I've got a kid? I've got a _kid_. And I love her so much it hurts. But I'm… _me_. I… I dunno how to do this. Care about people. I dunno. Been alone for too long."

For the first time in the year since they'd met, Launchpad realized just how _small_ Drake was. He'd always known, of course, that Drake was short, but his personality was so big that it was easy to forget. But now, with all his bravado and carefully crafted armor stripped away, he was tiny in a way that broke Launchpad's heart.

"Part of me wants t'be alone again," Drake continued, his voice cracking. "But I don't. I'm so tired of being alone. I'm so tired. I just… dunno how else t'be."

Without thinking, Launchpad pulled Drake into a tight hug. Drake went rigid at the sudden contact, and then he melted, gripping Launchpad's jacket like a lifeline and burying his face in the warm fabric. His shoulders heaved as silent sobs wracked his frame. Launchpad wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, until Drake's breathing evened back out and he pushed away.

Drake quickly wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his turtleneck, angling his face so Launchpad couldn't see it.

By now, Launchpad had sorted out what he wanted to say, and he lay down on his side of the hood. "You're not a failure, D.W.," he said.

Drake made a small noise of contempt, but he lay back down as well.

"I had an uncle who was an alcoholic," Launchpad continued. "It ruined every relationship he had. We tried to get him help, but he never accepted any. Eventually, he hit a lamp post going 60 miles an hour, and none of us are sure if he meant to do it or not. It wasn't his fault that he had this illness, but I can't forgive him for not doing anything about it. Not when he had so many people trying to support him." He looked at Drake. "You might have been alone for a really long time, but you still got yourself help. I think that makes you incredible."

Drake opened his beak a little, but no sound came out. "Oh," he said eventually. It was almost a squeak. "Thanks," he added after another moment.

"You're welcome, D.W.," Launchpad replied. "Just… next time, call me _before_ you start drinking, not after, alright? You're not alone anymore."

"Yeah," Drake murmured, his eyes drifting shut. "Yeah, I will."

There were a few minutes of silence, and Launchpad assumed Drake had fallen asleep. His own eyelids were beginning to feel heavy – it had been a long day at the airfield where he repaired planes for his side job, and he hadn't gotten much sleep before Drake called.

But the quiet didn't last for long, because it seemed Drake was still awake, after all. "Hey, L.P.," he said, tugging on Launchpad's sleeve. "Talk to me."

Launchpad blinked. "About what?"

"Anything," Drake replied. "I like it when you talk."

"But you're always telling me to shut up."

"Shut up and talk to me."

Launchpad shook his head, amused. "I can't do both."

"Oh," Drake said, frowning in consternation. Then he seemed to lose his train of thought, and stared vacantly upwards. "You're good," he said at last. "You're really, really good."

Quirking an eyebrow, Launchpad asked, "What makes you say that?"

"You put up with me."

"I care about you."

"Why the hell would y'do a dumb thing like that?" Drake asked, but his tone lacked the sour note of self-loathing from earlier.

"Guess I've just never been the sharpest tool on the workbench," Launchpad replied with a grin.

Drake smiled back, his expression a rare moment of true warmth, and it was like watching the sun rise.

"It's funny," Launchpad said, before he could think about it. "I used to bring dates here." He wasn't sure why he felt the sudden need to mention this.

"Oh?" Drake rolled onto his side, propping his head up in his hand, and waggled his eyebrows. "Does that make this a date?"

Launchpad huffed a laugh. "Not with you drunk like this."

Drake flopped onto his back again. "Hm," he said. And then: "I wish I was sober, then."

Launchpad's breath caught in his throat, and the words _well, we can always come back_ burned on his tongue. But Drake's eyes were still unfocused as he stared up at the stars, and he probably didn't even realize what he'd said. It wouldn't be fair if Launchpad acted on this admission.

The moment came to an abrupt end when Drake sat up and announced, "I'm gonna hurl." Then he bent off the side of the hood and proceeded to do so, loudly.

Launchpad winced and patted Drake soothingly on the back. When the retching petered off, he said, "I think it's time to head home."

"Yeah," Drake replied, spitting. "I think so, too."

* * *

Drake fell asleep in the car, slouched in the passenger seat with his face smushed against the window. Launchpad kept glancing at him, feeling the compulsive need to continue checking on him. He was just now realizing how little he knew about Drake, who almost never talked about his life before becoming a vigilante. Launchpad hadn't given it much thought – after all, he didn't have to know about Drake's past to admire who he was now.

But, suddenly, Launchpad _wanted_ to know. He wanted to know everything he could about Drake, even the parts Drake thought were too ugly to show. He wanted to know all of Drake's flaws and triumphs, and to love him all the more for them.

Drake mumbled something and shifted, but didn't wake up. He continued to sleep even after Launchpad pulled into the driveway and lifted him out of the seat. Launchpad fumbled one-handed with the keys at the door, cradling Drake in his other arm, and snuck up the stairs. It was only once Launchpad was tucking him into bed that Drake's eyes fluttered open. He reached out and snagged Launchpad's jacket. "Thanks for saving me, L.P.," he murmured.

Launchpad had a feeling he wasn't just talking about tonight. "No problemo, D.W.," he replied softly.

Drake smiled and let his hand drop to the mattress as he drifted away again.

Launchpad lingered a moment longer, resisting the urge to smooth out Drake's disheveled head feathers, then headed back to his own room.

* * *

The next day, Drake didn't wake until noon. Launchpad was in the living room reading a newspaper when Drake staggered down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes.

"Morning, D.W.!" Launchpad said cheerfully.

Drake let out a grunt of acknowledgement.

"There's fresh coffee in the kitchen," Launchpad added.

At this, Drake perked up and immediately disappeared into the kitchen. A couple minutes later, he reemerged with a steaming mug in hand and wandered over to plop down on the couch next to Launchpad. Neither of them said anything as Drake sipped at his coffee.

Eventually, Drake was the first to speak. "Sorry about last night," he said, his voice scratchy.

Launchpad folded the paper and set it down in his lap. "I don't wanna say it's alright," he said. "You really gave me a scare, to be honest. But… I'll always be here for you."

Drake smiled faintly into his cup. "Thanks." He hesitated, then said, "That place we went… it was nice. We should, uh…" His posture was a very careful kind of still, and his eyes were fixed firmly on his coffee. "We should go back sometime."

Launchpad had spent the entire morning wondering how much Drake would remember, and now it seemed like he remembered just enough. "Yeah," Launchpad said, resting his arm across the back of the couch, behind Drake's head. "I'd like that."

Some of the tension drained from Drake's body, and he leaned lightly against Launchpad's side. "Good," he said, trying and failing to sound casual. He cleared his throat. "Good."

They sat in companionable silence like that for the rest of the afternoon, and the world felt right.


End file.
